The doctor snatched the rifle from my shoulder.
"You must not shoot," said he, with his usual calmness; "you might kill somebody."
"I only wish to teach those cowards a lesson."
"That is all very well. But every man in Tibet is so cowardly that the lesson would have to be constantly repeated," answered Wilson, with his unfailing wisdom.
I slung my rifle over my shoulder, and made up my mind to start some other time on the great task I had then so nearly begun.
When we had covered a mile or so of the plain our ghostly escort crossed the pass, and came full gallop down the hill. I gave orders to my men to halt. The soldiers also came to a dead stop. I watched them through the telescope. They seemed to be holding a discussion. At last five men rode full speed northward, probably to guard the track in that direction. Three men remained where they were, and the remainder, as if seized by panic, galloped frantically up the hill again and disappeared over the summit.
We resumed our march. The three horsemen followed a course one mile south of ours, close against the foot of the hills. Lying low upon their ponies' heads, they probably imagined that they were passing us unperceived. Seeing that our bearings were for our old camp at Lama Chokten, they left our line and rode ahead of us.
When, in the evening, we reached Lama Chokten two shepherds came to greet us. Then another appeared.
"Our sheep are far away," said they. "We are hungry. We are poor. Can we stop near your camp and pick up the food that you will throw away?"
"Certainly," I replied. "But mind you do not pick up anything else."